


And Counting

by Nebulad



Series: Whiskey Molotov [23]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Gen, Other, Precipice of War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironically there was still a T-60 helmet in the corner whose lamp was still casting a thin beam of white light across the room. Audrey could see just enough to know that Deacon hadn’t dropped out on her.</p><p>Her and Glory.</p><p>Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Counting

A two hour vigil on a blood stain, going on the third pretty soon.

At least they weren’t alone.

Audrey, Deacon, and Glory.

Kind of.

They were sitting in the dark because Deacon nearly bit Drummer’s fucking head off. The lights were hurting his eyes, someone shut off the fucking lights— and the someone was always Drummer, so he’d pulled the plug _(ha, poor choice of words)_ on the flood lights and they’d been sitting in the dark for almost three hours. Ironically there was still a T-60 helmet in the corner whose lamp was still casting a thin beam of white light across the room. Audrey could see just enough to know that Deacon hadn’t dropped out on her.

Her and Glory.

Kind of.

He was wearing his go-to tee and jeans, with the legs rolled up a little like he was right out of the goddamn diner with a milkshake for her. She couldn’t tell if he was wearing the wig, but knew instinctively that his sunglasses were still on his face. He never took them off, not even to snipe at Knights funnelling through the suddenly too-narrow tunnels of the Old North Church. Maybe they were tricked out or something, courtesy of Tinker Tom. Maybe they saw vitals or something, vitals dropping on vital agents whose minigun got knocked clear across the room before they shot her.

“Dee?” she asked into the dark. He didn’t respond, but he was listening. She could tell. “Take off your sunglasses.”

“No can do, boss.” His voice was _normal._ Hers was a hoarse mess and neither of them would ever hear Glory’s again, but Deacon sounded for all the world like she’d asked him to carry more cans than he could jam in his pack.

“You’ll ruin your eyes like that,” she told him, sounding like she’d just been punched in the neck. She coughed and felt tears move around in her throat, but swallowed them back down. Crying wouldn’t do jack shit but make it hard to plan her next move. She was thinking Maxson deserved what was left of Glory’s 5mm ammo directly in his chest, though it probably wouldn’t be… easy. Especially if she never found the willpower to end the vigil but…

She liked it, kind of.

Just her, Deacon, and Glory.

Kind of.

“I’m a synth, remember?” he asked, and he gave himself away on _synth_ with a little stagger as he remembered their synth was no longer among them. RIP in Peace, Here Lies Glory the Synth who wasn’t going to run jobs with the Death Bunnies anymore or tell them their super cool partner name was lame ever again. “Can’t hurt my eyes.”

Audrey moved before she realized it, shuffling past Glory (Carrington and Tom had taken her body on the off-chance that _one_ of them could bring her back, get a vital sign, save her component… but that was two hours ago and no word) so she was sitting flush against Deacon. She reached out and he didn’t stop her because trust was what friendship was all about right? Trust and weekly mud facials.

She didn’t put on his sunglasses even though she _was_ curious about putting in a little something extra. She’d have to talk to Tom— between the two of them they’d figure it out, and maybe Dee would be more careful with his shades. “It sucks,” he said as she turned them over in her hands. “It always sucks but in this line of work you gotta be ready to lose people. You can’t pick favourites, you can’t look at someone and make them your breaking point.”

His eyes are blue. She can’t see more than what the headlamp allows, which is almost absolutely nothing, but her eyes have adjusted in the almost three hours they’ve been sitting there together and the lamp is angled just right that she can see the colour from where she’s sitting. Blue like the bay, blue stormclouds, blue like Deacon’s eyes.

Also, wig: confirmed.

“Breaking points are what make us human,” she tried, although she knew what he was gunna say. She would forgive him harping on the synth thing— they were faced with a particular set of circumstances after all, and she didn’t expect his A-game after… all this.

Three hours.

Kind of.

“Synth, remember?” She slouched down to press her head against his chest, to feel her breaking point’s heartbeat. He was hers. Glory was hers. Dez and Drummer and Tom and Carrington and PAM were all hers. A breaking point, a heartbeat heard through the dripping din of the old crypt where they were all holed up after Switchboard. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished she could tell him that it wasn’t his fault for being out with her, it wasn’t his fault for his failsafes failing, it wasn’t his fault that Glory was dead.

He was skittish as a radstag yearling, though, and so she said “You’ll just have to take my word for it,” and clutched his sunglasses in her fingers. He shifted her to sit between his legs, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pressing his forehead against her shoulder. His breathing was even but there was something about the way he was holding her that was breathless..

Three hours and counting.

**Author's Note:**

> this was honestly supposed to be cute when I first thought of the idea because I mean what's cuter than seeing ur best platonic partner's eyes for the first time? And then I'm like okay setting-- and it got less cute. [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com).


End file.
